


It's Happening Again

by byitisee



Series: Times When Supernatural Characters Should've Panicked [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Episode Tag, Episode: s01e14 Nightmare, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Panic, Panic Attack, Protective Dean Winchester, Psychic, Psychic Sam, Vision - Freeform, first in a series: when Supernatural characters should've panicked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-17 21:43:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10602852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byitisee/pseuds/byitisee
Summary: Episode Tag S1 14 "Nightmare" Set after Sam's first waking vision. TW: panic attack





	

“It’s happening again. Something’s gonna kill Roger Miller.”

“Sam! What just happened? Sammy?”

Sam gripped his head in pain at the shout. “We have to go.” Sam’s breathing was labored like he’d just woken from a nightmare.

“Hold on, what just happened?”

Sam started pushing himself up from the floor. “There’s no time.”

“Sam! Sit down! What just happened?”

“Doesn’t matter. Dean-”

Dean took a measured breath before responding, “yeah?”

As if deciding it was probably a good idea, Sam tried to mimic his brother’s deep breath, but only managed to highlight how shallow his gasps had become. “Dean.”

“Sammy I need you to talk to me.” Dean tried to sound calm and in control. Sam was clearly freaking out, and he needed to be steadied by his big brother. Dean just needed to know what was going on. He needed to do something. “Sam!”

Sam visibly winced and groaned. The look he gave his brother clearly communicated “not helping.”

Dean closed his eyes briefly. “Headache then.” Sam nodded with both hands still gripping the sides of his head. “Why can’t you breathe? What just happened?”

Sam knew in this moment that he had to give Dean some answers while he still had enough clarity to explain. Dean’s façade was crumbling, and he looked as terrified as Sam felt. “Ok, just-” Sam’s pleading eyes met Dean’s. “Please calm down.” Sam closed his eyes again to try to steady his breathing. He needed to hold on just long enough to make sure Dean was ok.

“Calm down? How the fuck do you expect me to calm down when you’re sitting there gasping and looking like you’re about to pass out and-”

“Dean, stop.” The desperation in his voice startled Dean out of his rant. “Please, I can’t- I need you to calm down.”

Dean tried to sound calm, but only managed to speak with quieter terror, “Sammy, I can’t until I know what’s going on.”

Sam closed his eyes again, but Dean could’ve sworn he saw them shine before he did. “Dean, I can’t-” a desperate breath cut him off, and he suddenly had a death grip on Dean’s arm. “Panicking. Dean-” and Sam was hyperventilating.

Dean’s entire body tensed. His brother looked like he was suffocating. “Sam! Sammy, what do I do?”

Sam mentally swore. He needed to somehow communicate to Dean that he was ok but also that he needed him right now. Maybe the second half was obvious, but if it was, then the first would seem impossible. “Questions,” Sam wheezed.

“That was a question.”

“No, just- just yes or no.” Sam explained as calmly as possible while still unable to rein in his ragged breathing.

“You hurt?” Sam rapidly shook his head. “Something attacking you?” Sam’s hitch in breathing sounded almost like a laugh as he continued shaking his head. “Any danger at all?” 

Sam paused. “Not to me,” he finally whispered through pained breaths. “Not yet.”

“But you need me to be calm.” It wasn’t exactly a question, but Sam still nodded. “Because you just need to calm down.” Sam rolled his eyes and nodded again. “But if I don’t know why you’re freaking out Sammy, how can I calm you down?”

Sam didn’t know how much longer he could do this. Dean had been trained his entire life to study up on the problem before going in for the fight. He didn’t know how to go in blind—especially to fight something he couldn’t just shoot or behead. All this Sam knew, but it didn’t stop his ever increasing need to just curl into a ball and ride this thing out. His head still hurt like a bitch too, and he couldn’t stop replaying the gruesome death of Roger Miller over and over until he could swear it was his own head poking out the window for just a second too long. Finally unable to take anymore, Sam groaned and pulled his knees up to his head. He could feel his body rapidly tense and relax as if in a mild seizure.

“Sammy?” With great effort, Dean managed to keep his voice calm. “Ok, ok, here.” He moved next to his now openly crying little brother and pulled him into a gentle side-hug, slowly rubbing circles on his back. “Sammy, listen to me. You know I’d never let anything happen to you. It’s my job, remember?” Sam made no move to respond, but certainly didn’t pull away from the embrace either. “It’ll just pass, right?”

Sam couldn’t tell if this was just another comforting platitude or a worried question, so he nodded to be safe. “Hurts, De.”

“Head still?” Sam nodded slowly. “Anywhere else?”

“Muscles.” Sam gasped as—as if on cue—his muscles tensed again.

Dean inwardly swore, but simply kept up the reassuring back rub instead of voicing his distress. “Anything else I can do?” There was a slight plea in the question that Sam didn’t miss.

“Need to relax.”

“Yeah, I get that much, Sam.”

“No, physically.” Sam stopped to breathe heavily as if every word took a great effort and nearly all of his breath. “Slow breathing, loose muscles-” Sam groaned through a particularly harsh and sudden muscle tension and was nearly hyperventilating again to catch his breath when it passed.

“Sam, look at me.” Sam shook his head as his breathing became somehow faster. “Now, Sammy.” Unable to refuse when his brother pulled out the tone that meant, “I’m your big brother, you know how this works,” Sam met his brother’s eyes. He managed about two seconds before he had to close his eyes again; everything was just too much. “C’mon Sammy, you got this.” Dean pushed as he reached for his brother’s visibly shaking hand and gave it a firm but gentle squeeze.

Suddenly overwhelmed with the need to be anywhere but this tiny corner of a dingy motel room with only memories of panic and beheading-by-window, Sam pulled away from his brother as he shot to his feet. He tried to back away from Dean’s suddenly smothering form, but was blocked by the bedside table, which managed to block only his legs and send him sprawling—not towards the bed, but towards the hard floor.

Dean lunged for his brother who was still close enough for Dean to reach him before he hit the ground. “Sam, listen to me. Hey! You listening?” Sam was gasping and his eyes were darting around the room like a caged animal, but he nodded. “You need to slow down. Slow everything down and breathe, nice and slow.” He had both hands on his little brother in case he tried to run again, and he kept trying to meet Sam’s eyes. “Look at me!” He knew this tone might overwhelm Sam, but he needed his big brother to take control for him, and Sammy couldn’t say no when Dean sounded like this. “Now, Sammy.” Still nothing. If even the I’m starting to worry about you, Sammy tone wasn’t getting through to him, this was really bad. Dean had never seen Sam like this. Ok then, keep it simple. Yes or no. “Do you want to go outside? Fresh air?” 

Sam shook his head minutely, but Dean caught it. 

“You wanna stay here?” 

Another no, this one more forceful.

Shit. Reword it then. “You need to move?”

Sam finally nodded through ever shallower hyperventilating.

“Ok, Sam, I need you to breathe. We can move as soon as you take a few real breaths.”

As if in response, Sam’s body brutally clenched again, forcing him to take even more rapid, desperate breaths. He was crying in the way you do when you’re in too much pain not to, but also too much to let your body convulse in sobs.

“Hold on for me, Sammy. You need to breathe.” He could tell his little brother was getting very lightheaded by the look in his eyes. “Breathe, Sammy.” When Sam again failed to respond, Dean inched his way even closer to the shaking form in the corner as non-threateningly as he could, giving his brother time to tell him to stop. After a few long seconds, Dean was gently pulling Sam into a straighter sitting position and forcing the tear-filled eyes to meet his own. “You hearing me? You need to breathe. Now.” Dean took great care to keep anxiety from his voice, but allowed it to be a slightly urgent, non-negotiable imperative. “Breathe.”

Sam closed his eyes as if visual stimulus was just too much on top of everything else, but he made a clear effort to take a deeper breath.

Relieved by the progress of a responsive Sam, Dean moved to more fully occupy little brother’s thoughts and keep them away from whatever had set this off. It had to be a simple topic that was deeply ingrained. “Tell me how to kill a ghost.”

The moment of incredulity seemed to include a glint of gratitude as Sam responded, “salt. Burn.”

“Signs of a demon.”

“Black smoke. Sulfur. Eyes.” He had to keep interrupting himself for air, but his focus was clearly improving.

“First hunt after I pulled you from Stanford.”

“Spirit.”

“Specifically.”

“Woman in White.”

“Most important thing Dad gave us.”

“Journal.”

“My favorite thing Dad gave us.”

“Car.”

“She’s more than a car, Sam!” Dean only slightly softened his automatic annoyed response.

Sam managed what started to look like a smile before he remembered he was panicking and was sent back into a round of gasping.

“Ok, how to kill a Wendigo.”

“Fire.”

“Shifter.”

“Anything.”

“Example.”

“Gun.”

“Good. What were we doing before this?”

“Guns. Cleaning guns.”

“Where are we?”

“Shit motel.”

Dean chuckled. “City, dude.”

“Saginaw.”

Dean paused and inspected his brother. “You’re breathing, Sammy.”

Sam was in fact breathing almost normally, having shifted his focus entirely to his brother’s questions. Still, he just sat there avoiding his brother’s probing gaze.

“We have to talk about it sometime. Might as well be now. Sounded urgent anyway. You up for it?”

Already brushing off signs of weakness and coming fully back to the reality of the situation—despite clear signs of his still-kicking headache—Sam jumped up. “We have to go!”

“Whoa, where are we going?”

“Roger Miller. I saw it. We have to save him, Dean, c’mon!”

Sam was already out the door before Dean could form another question. Without a word, he wiped a hand over his face and went to catch his little brother before he decided to go without him.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love prompts for future editions of this: I want it to be a series of the times when a Supernatural character should've had a panic attack, but it just cut to another scene.
> 
> Let me know what you think!


End file.
